


The Trick is to Keep Breathing

by msgenevieve



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-02-07
Updated: 1998-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between "The Quality of Mercy" and "Restoration".  Nikita is on the outside, but it's becoming very clear that the grass isn't always greener outside Section.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of La Femme Nikita remain the property of WB and Fireworks Entertainment and USA. No infringement of copyright is intended. There is a tiny amount of dialogue in this story that also belongs to them, and there is occasional coarse language to be found. The title is from a wonderful song by Garbage.

She watched him walk away from them and took an almost shaky breath, unhappily conscious of the fact that her pulse was fluttering faster than usual. This sense of being out of the loop...it was not only unfamiliar, it was intolerable.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, she glanced sideways at her companion. To show any hint of uncertainty in front of him was unacceptable, and yet she knew she must voice her concerns. 

She cleared her throat discreetly and turned to the man standing next to her. "We may have some problems with him." 

Operations sighed heavily and looked at her, irritation tightening his face as he raised an eyebrow in a silent request for clarification. Madeline turned to stare again at Michael as he stalked through Section before glancing quickly at Operations, smiling slightly to soften the blow of her words. 

"There _was_ something between them." 

It galled her to say it, but there was no point hiding the truth from her companion. She had not thought that the bond between their best Level Five Operative and his material had gone any further than a mutual sexual attraction, an attraction that she knew Michael would not have made the mistake of acting upon. 

As much as it pained her to admit it, she had been mistaken. Michael's reaction to Nikita's death was more than that of a mentor who had lost his student. It was that of a bereaved lover, a man stricken with grief and loss...and anger. Madeline frowned, remembering the split-second frisson of fear that had stiffened her spine as she had looked into Michael's eyes and seen the extent of his rage. 

The sound of Operations' gravelly voice brought her back to the present. "The question is now -" Their eyes met in a look of pure understanding as he voiced the question to which Madeline was afraid she already knew the answer. "- can he let it go?" 

Knowing that she couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, Madeline only replied calmly. 

"I don't know." 

Operations scowled with displeasure as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He drew out a slim packet of cigars and his lighter, deliberately ignoring Madeline's moue of distaste. Lighting the cigarillo, he blew out a puff of fragrant smoke and stared down upon Section with narrowed eyes. 

"Why didn't you warn me that this might happen?" 

His unspoken accusation chafed her slightly wounded pride and she stepped closer to him, ignoring the cigar smoke that irritated her eyes. Madeline held his gaze, gratified to see the familiar flicker of longing in the depths of his eyes as she touched his arm lightly. She smiled as she watched his inner struggle, torn between his need to be in control and his need for her. Inevitably, his face softened and Madeline felt the balance of power shift once more. With quiet satisfaction, she allowed herself to admit her error. 

"It appears we may have misjudged the depth of his attachment to Nikita." 

Operations inhaled a last deep lungful of smoke and crushed out the cigar, watching the glowing tip flicker and die. He glanced up at Madeline with displeasure. 

"She caused us nothing but trouble from day one. Now that she's gone, how much longer will she keep causing us trouble?" 

"I'm not sure." Madeline turned to stare unseeingly through the viewing window, her mind whirring with possible scenarios. 

"What about the Vachek mission?" Operations turned on his heel and started to pace the length of his office. "What if he compromises his cover?" 

"He won't." 

Operations stopped in his tracks and gave her a sardonic smile. 

"You sound very sure of that. What makes you so certain that we haven't misjudged that situation as well?" 

Stung by his lack of faith, she returned his brittle smile with one of her own. "His son." 

Operations stared at her for a moment before nodding his head in acknowledgment of her logic. "Point taken." He paused for a moment, reaching for his cigars again. "Put a watch on him, just to be sure. And perhaps we should provide Michael with some sort of...distraction?" 

Madeline smiled as they exchanged a knowing glance. She had already come to the same conclusion. "Of course." 

 

~*~

 

Nikita came awake with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed before she was truly awake, her hands still clawing at the twisted sheets. 

Closing her eyes tightly, she placed a hand over her heart, feeling it madly fluttering beneath her splayed fingers. Suddenly claustrophobic, she yanked the bedclothes back and swung her feet to the floor, struggling to get her breathing under control. Nikita dropped her head into her hands in frustration as the memory of what had woken her came flooding back. 

What the hell was that? Even as she demanded an answer of her subconscious mind, she knew exactly what that had been. "That" had been yet another one of those damn dreams. She rubbed her hands across her face, wiping the cold sweat from her skin, her heart sinking. 

It was that dream. Not the nightmare that jolted her awake so often, the nightmare in which she was trapped as the Freedom League base camp burned, screaming silently as the flames licked at her skin. This was the dream that left her sweating and restless, gasping for air...a dream in which a very different kind of heat licked at her skin. Nikita hugged her crossed arms to her chest, hating the way the already aching tips of her breasts stiffened further. 

It's been five weeks, she thought in despair. How much longer will I dream of them? She shook her head as though trying to rid herself of her next thought, but it was too late. How much longer would she dream of him? 

By sheer force of will, she had managed to keep thoughts of Michael at bay during the day, but he stalked her dreams, his face and touch tormenting her as she slept. She would wake up with his name lingering on her lips, her body roused to a fever-hot ache by vivid imaginations of his hands on her skin, his mouth on her body, his lips at her breast. 

Nikita felt the all too familiar flicker of desire tug warmly in her belly, and flopped back onto the bed in defeat, shivering as the cool night air fluttered over her flushed skin. I'll never get back to sleep now, she thought, and reached for her wristwatch on the makeshift nightstand, grimacing as she noted the time. 3:00am. Wonderful. She turned over onto her side, willing her treacherous body to cool down, to calm down. 

Reaching over, Nikita dropped the watch back onto the nightstand, trying to avoid looking at the other items on the tabletop and failing miserably. The screen of the PDA that Michael had pressed into her hand the night he set her free glowed feebly in the darkness, a constant reminder of a past she was trying so hard to escape. Guilt welled up inside her as she thought of his messages. Always the same four words...a terse little enquiry that seemed to speak volumes. He seemed angry with her, but maybe he just needed to know that she was alive. 

So why don't I just answer him? 

She knew the answer. She was afraid. 

Nikita felt tears prick warmly behind her eyelids and closed them tightly, not wanting to think about what Michael might be feeling. She couldn't remember the last time a day had passed without the PDA beeping at her imploringly. Michael didn't know if she was dead or alive, and she couldn't find the courage to let him know. She had sat with the PDA in front of her so many times, her fingers poised above the keys...but had never replied. 

She had tried to ignore the messages by keeping the panel switched off, but would only last an hour or so before she turned it back on. It was her last connection to a world she despised...so why couldn't she destroy it? Even as she asked her self the question, Nikita reached out a hand and touched the small screen, knowing full well why she hadn't. It was her last connection to Michael as well, and she just couldn't let it go. 

Nikita sighed and flipped over onto her back, realising that sleep was going to elude her yet again. She had spent so many nights like this, lying awake in the darkness with only her muddled thoughts for company. After resisting for so long, she finally let herself peer into the hidden recesses of her mind and heart...and suddenly the truth she had spent three years denying no longer had the power to frighten her. 

She wanted him. 

She ached for him with a passion she was afraid she would never feel again. Michael had wanted her too. She knew that now, despite the fact that he had never let what was so obviously between them overwhelm him. Not like it always seemed to overwhelm her. Nikita closed her eyes, thinking of how he had come to her apartment the night before the abeyance mission. Had that been the real Michael? Nikita let out a frustrated sigh. She didn't know. What she did know was that the memory of Michael cradling her in his arms as she wept had been one of the few things that had sustained her in the first few weeks out of Section. 

But he had let her go, and she was never going back. There was nothing either of them could do about it. 

Every time he sent a message, she felt restless for hours afterwards. Why hadn't he given up? How could he bring himself to keep sending that same message, day after day, knowing that she may be dead? His doggedness despite her continued silence both alarmed and thrilled her. 

Her chest tightened as the sorrow she had pushed deep down inside suddenly flickered to life. She would rather die than go back to Section. To see Michael again, or even respond to his messages, would be crazy. She wouldn't be able to see him just the once, she knew that now...and that would be her downfall. As much as she hated to believe it, now that she was on the outside, Michael and Section were one and the same. The enemy. 

Trying to distract herself from this painful thought, she let her eyes wander about the dimly lit room, taking in the threadbare walls, the peeling paint on the ceiling, listening to the creaks and moans that only an eighty-year-old wooden boarding house can make. 

This wasn't freedom, not by a long shot. 

 

~*~

 

Michael studied the sleeping recruit without interest. According to her file, her name was Therese. A petite brunette this time, he noted dispassionately. If the situation wasn't so gut-searingly painful, he might have almost found it amusing. Madeline must have been undecided as to whether to distract him from his memories of Simone or Nikita, so he had conveniently been presented with two new recruits. 

Lauren had been assigned to him last week, a tall blonde with wide blue eyes and a smart mouth. After five minutes in her company, he found himself longing for Nikita with a ferocity that made him want to lash out at the pale imitation that Madeline had forced upon him. 

Hours later, sitting in his office, he could barely remember making the routine 'welcome' speech to Therese, or taking Lauren through her paces in the dojo. It was a blur of action and reaction. Michael smiled a bitter smile that his Section training had become so ingrained that he could perform these tasks while his mind and heart were thousands of miles away. 

The week after Nikita's 'death', Madeline had actually asked him if he wanted to visit her apartment before it was stripped bare. Taken aback by the pure rush of pain that had swept through him, he managed to politely decline her seemingly magnanimous offer before walking unsteadily to the bathroom where he had been violently sick. 

Six weeks without her. Six weeks of not knowing. Six weeks of choking back his growing fear that she was indeed dead. Six weeks of feeling as though his heart had been shredded, unbidden memories pressing down mercilessly on the ragged edges of the raw wound of her loss. At this moment, he would have given his life to see her familiar figure loping through the hallways. 

If she is alive, she is free. Who am I to wish her back into this hell? He swallowed the sudden lump of misery thickening his throat and reached out a hand to disable the surveillance on his office. 

Michael had hoped...had actually prayed that his life would eventually return to the way it was before she had burst into his world and knocked him off balance. In fact, he wasn't sure how he was going to bear it if he wasn't able to find the strength to purge her from his mind. 

He couldn't do it. He saw her everywhere, in everything around him. In the hallways of Section...in his home...during every single damn mission. 

Everywhere. 

He trailed his fingers across the top of the closed laptop, knowing that he shouldn't, but also knowing that he would. It had become a daily personal struggle...the futile attempt to quell his new obsession. From the moment he awakened from a restless sleep, he would be filled with the urge to tap out those four words...reaching out to a woman he couldn't accept was gone. Sometimes he actually made it halfway through the day before he admitted defeat and sent the message. 

He booted up the laptop, lightly drumming his fingers on the desktop as he waited. Michael used a number of secure channels to send this daily plea and always performed a back trace. Unless Section knew exactly what they were looking for, they weren't going to find a thing. 

No replies to encrypted message. 

The words glowed up at him. Michael closed his eyes, frustration warring with anger. If she's alive, why the hell doesn't she let me know? Nikita would have realised almost instantly that he was the one who had orchestrated her escape. Why won't she answer? Is she afraid that I would try to bring her back in? 

His conscience twinged at the thought. Would you? Would you bring her back in if you could? 

Michael's hands hovered above the keyboard, slowly typing the words that his fingers now knew by heart. 

NIKITA, ARE YOU THERE? 

He pressed 'send', already knowing the answer to his own question, shame sweeping through him as he finally acknowledged the brutal truth. Michael closed his eyes once more, his mind flooding with the images of Nikita he could no longer keep at bay. 

Yes, he thought fiercely. I would. 

 

 

~*~

 

 

Nikita eyed her backpack and duffel bag, neatly packed, zipped and awaiting her attention. All my worldly possessions, she mused with bravado, trying to quell the pang of unhappiness the thought provoked. 

She wouldn't be sorry to leave. A month of picking up glasses and working behind the bar in a nightclub had left her with two things. Enough money to leave Berlin, and an aversion to the techno music she had previously loved. Nikita walked to the small window and gazed sightlessly through the smudged glass. Something had happened last night. Something that would have meant nothing to anyone else, but which was enough to bring everything rushing back, everything that she was trying so hard to forget. 

It had been late, nearly four in the morning. She was about to finish her shift when she heard the yelling. Her instincts kicked in, and before she could stop herself she darted through the thinning crowd, only to find one of the other female bar staff being aggressively 'felt up' by a male almost twice her size. Nikita took one look at the man's dilated pupils and knew that they were in trouble. She had no idea what he was on, but he was clearly not in the mood to listen to reason. 

For a few seconds, Nikita was torn. She had no wish to draw attention to herself, but there was no way she was going to leave this girl to fend off that idiot alone. Taking a deep breath, she let her Section training take over, her hand shooting out to grasp the man's throat before she consciously knew what she was doing. He blinked and she tightened her grip, watching with detached satisfaction as his face coloured and then paled. He dropped his hands and the girl lost no time in scrambling away, taking refuge behind Nikita. 

She was saved from any further effort by the arrival of the manager and one of his lackeys. watching as the bouncer dragged the now semi-unconscious patron towards the exit before turning away, hoping to melt into the crowd unnoticed. 

Luck, however, was not on her side. 

"That was great, Nik." 

Gritting her teeth, Nikita looked up to find the club's manager regarding her with a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

She shrugged and tried to brush past him as she replied. "It was nothing." 

"No, that was really something. It usually takes two of our guys to subdue Nicholas." He smirked at her. "He's quite a handful, if you know what I mean." 

Reluctantly accepting the fact that she couldn't politely extract herself from the conversation just yet, Nikita stared at him. "So why do you keep letting him in?" 

Her boss rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the universal sign. "He's loaded...or rather, his father is. Daddy is a part-owner of the club." At Nikita's look of disgust, he only shrugged. "We keep his boy out of trouble, and he keeps the money pouring in." 

Nikita could think of no polite reply to this statement, so she merely smiled and tried to brush past him once more. The hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks. 

"Listen...Nik...I'm in a bit of a bind. Dominic, one of our bouncers, quit last night and I haven't been able to find a replacement on such short notice." 

Nikita narrowed her eyes at him, sensing what was coming. "What does this have to do with me?" 

"You're wasted working behind the bar. I want to put you on the front door...you know, security. It's more money, and you wouldn't have to be pulling beers for these slobs in here." 

Nikita looked away, considering. She was getting pretty tired of smelling like a brewery twenty-four hours a day. 

"I'll think about it." 

"Why don't you give it a try tomorrow night? See if you can handle it?" 

Nikita had no doubt she could handle it...she just wasn't sure she wanted to utilise those particular talents. It made her feel uneasy, but more money was more money. 

"Fine...tomorrow night then." 

"Great. I won't be here, but Frederick will be able to show you the ropes." He turned to walk away, but swivelled around quickly, as though remembering something. "Oh, almost forgot. This was Dominic's...you'll need to wear it." 

She looked down at his open palm, her blood turning to ice when she saw what he was offering her. It was a black earpiece, a cheap imitation of a Section issued comm unit. The past punched her in the stomach, and nausea clawed at her insides. Shocked by the violence of her reaction, she could only shake her head mutely. 

Her employer looked at her curiously. "What's wrong?" He held it out to her. " It's only an earpiece so you can communicate with the rest of the security team." 

Nikita shook her head again. She could taste the fear at the back of her throat, and was overcome by the urge to run. With a supreme effort, she cleared her throat. 

"I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be able to accept your offer." Her voice sounded shaky. 

He stared at her. "You wanna be stuck behind that bar for the rest of your life?" 

The impulse to flee was now so strong that Nikita could hardly take in what he was saying. The blood roaring in her ears, all she could hear was her own inner voice screaming at her to run. 

"No. I...uh..." She pulled her black bartender's apron up over her head and handed it to him with a trembling hand. "I'm sorry...I gotta go." 

She had fled back to her dingy room in the boarding house as though the devil was at her heels, packing her bags in a blur of clothing and shoes before seeking out the elderly landlady. The old lady protested as Nikita rushed her through the settlement of her bill, but her complaints fell on deaf ears. 

Now, sitting in her room waiting until it was time to leave for the train station, she dropped her head into her hands. She had the terrible sinking feeling that no matter where she ran, it would never be far enough. 

 

~*~

 

 

 

"I don't understand, Michael." Elena looked at her husband in exasperation. "I thought you wanted to go to Bordeaux for the weekend." 

Michael quelled the guilt that swept over him when he saw the disappointment etched on Elena's face. "I know. I did. But work has gone crazy. It's a bad time right now." 

He reached out to touch her face but she moved out of reach, putting her coffee cup down on the kitchen bench with a dull thump before turning away. "It's never a good time lately, is it?" 

Michael stared at his wife's back, knowing by the slight tremour of her shoulders that she was fighting the urge to cry. Startled by the unfamiliar sound of his mother's voice raised in anger, Adam stopped playing with his wooden blocks and started to wail. 

Michael slid off the kitchen stool and walked over to his son, scooping him up into his arms in one smooth movement. Adam hiccupped a few times but soon quieted as Michael patted him gently on the back, crooning to him under his breath. 

"Michael, what's the matter? Is there something wrong at work? You seem so unhappy." 

Michael cringed inwardly at the softly spoken questions. Elena had been clingy and slightly moody since he had suggested trying to get in touch with her father three weeks ago. He knew now that he had pushed her too hard, but he hadn't been thinking straight. All he could see was the possible light at the end of this dark tunnel in which he was trapped, a restless desperation making him too single-minded. 

There was another reason for Elena's unhappiness. They hadn't made love for over a week...not since the night she had turned to him in the darkness of their bedroom, kissed him and told him that she wanted to have another child. 

The very thought of it had sent a fevered wave of panic crashing over him, and he hadn't been able to find the right words to cover his shocked silence. The discussion had ended before it even begun. Elena had turned her back on him and gone to sleep angry, her silent tears a stinging reproach for his callousness. Michael had lain awake in the darkness, unable to find the strength to comfort her. 

Until Madeline had pointed out that he was in danger of compromising his deep cover, Michael had spent every other night at Section for the last two months whether he was needed there or not. Knowing he was only making things worse, but unable to control the compulsive need to be where he felt Nikita's presence the most, he buried himself in profiles and psyche reports. But the hollow ache deep inside him wouldn't go away, no matter where or how he sought release.

In the beginning, he had sought comfort in Elena's arms, in their bed. The uncharacteristic violence of his lovemaking had shocked her at first, but she had soon been swept up in the wave of physical sensation that he created for her. 

At first, it worked. For a short time, he could forget. Forget the roar of the flames as they ate away at the Freedom League base. Forget the hatred in Walter and Birkoff's eyes whenever they looked at him. 

But being in Elena's arms was never enough to chase the constant thoughts of Nikita from his mind, or ease his increasing fears that she was dead. Every time he left Elena's bed, he hated himself more and more. 

Frustration. 

Hopelessness. 

Fear. 

Longing. 

Michael could feel himself drowning in a mire of despair, and nothing he did could break the stranglehold of the grief that had wrapped itself around his heart. He despised himself for trying to forget Nikita in the warmth of Elena's body...he had used her in the worst possible way, and she deserved so much more. 

He looked at her now, this innocent that Section had chosen to help them bring down an evil man who happened to be her father. Michael put Adam back down on the floor to play with his toys and wrapped his arms around his wife, gathering her close to his heart. 

"I'm sorry. You're right. Things are a little stressful at work. I shouldn't have brought my worries home." Michael heard himself saying the words, faintly surprised at how normal they sounded. 

Elena tilted her head back and smiled through her tears. 

"I forgive you." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, her mouth warm and insistent, her body shifting against his in unmistakable invitation. "I'm sure you can find a way to make it up to me?" 

Despite the warmth of the kitchen, Michael shivered. The temptation to forget, if only for a fleeting moment, was too strong to resist. He gave Elena a small smile and ran his hands lightly down her back before stepping out of her embrace for a moment to check on their son. Seeing that Adam had fallen asleep next to his pile of toys, Michael took his wife by the hand and led her toward their room. 

"I'm sure I can." 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Walter watched Michael walk toward him, and had to fight the urge to slam the metal gate down in his face. 

Look at him, Walter thought bitterly. Strutting around here as though nothing happened. 

He had seen Michael yesterday with one of the new recruits...that blonde one. What was her name again? Walter wracked his brain, finally coming up with a name. Lauren. Legs that went on forever, long blonde hair and an innocent air about her. He had to hand it to Madeline...she sure knew how to pick them. 

He was embarrassed to admit it, but when he'd seen Lauren strolling along beside Michael toward Munitions yesterday, he'd thought his heart actually might stop. For a split-second, he could have sworn it was... 

Walter blinked, looking down at the panel he was sweeping as his eyes blurred with tears. When would it stop, this hollow ache inside? For the first few weeks after they'd lost her, it was all he could do to get up in the mornings, and for the first time in his long life...he had felt very old. 

The only two things he had to hang onto were his memories of Nikita...and the anger that burnt deep inside his gut when he thought of the people who had taken her life. Madeline. Operations. Michael. 

I had my orders. 

God damn it, why hadn't Michael told him? Between the two of them, they might have been able to work something out. Oh, he understood why Michael hadn't wanted to let Birkoff know what was happening...the kid was too unpredictable. You never knew if he was going to play ball or play by the book. But damn it, he was different. How long had Michael known him? He knew how the game was played in here. You nod and take their orders, and then you do it your own way. 

Walter cleared his throat and tossed aside the panel he had finally finished sweeping and glared at Michael as he approached. Before all this shit went down, Walter would have staked his life on the belief that he wouldn't be the only one grieving if they ever lost Nikita. He had never been able to shake the feeling that Michael felt a hell of lot more for his young recruit than he ever let on. Walter scowled as his sense of justice began to reluctantly re-assert itself. To be fair to Michael, it can't have been easy for him. Juggling his time between that wide-eyed Vachek girl-child, their baby and his Section duties must have taking nearly every ounce of energy he had. 

When Section introduced the wild card of a blonde-haired, strong-willed, irrepressible Valkyrie that Michael couldn't seem to keep his eyes off into the mix, things had been bound to get more than a little interesting. 

He had been so sure that Michael cared enough about Nikita to keep her safe. To be proved wrong was a betrayal so devastating that Walter could hardly stand to look at him. They had wanted to be rid of her...and Michael had stood by and let them do it. 

"I need these in an hour." 

Walter's head snapped up at the sound of Michael's voice. He had been so immersed in his unhappy thoughts that he hadn't noticed Michael standing beside him. Walter looked at the panel in Michael's outstretched hand before flicking a disdainful glance up at him. The sarcastic reply hovering on his lips died a silent death as he looked into Michael's eyes. 

The man was hurting. 

The blank mask was firmly in place, but there was nothing Michael could do to disguise the empty desolation at the back of his eyes. For the first time in over two months, Walter took a good look at the man standing beside him. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and his face seemed leaner, harder. Walter watched as Michael reached out to drop the panel on the bench top in front of Walter, noticing with a reluctantly sympathetic pang that the younger man seemed to have lost a hell of a lot of weight. 

Momentarily pushing aside the resentment that had been his constant companion for weeks, he cleared his throat before replying in a carefully neutral voice. 

"I'll have them ready for you." 

Michael looked at him with those empty eyes, and Walter almost shivered. Someone's walking over my grave, he thought with a shudder. Walter stared as Michael turned and walked slowly away, his usually confident gait almost hesitant, as though he wasn't quite sure where he wanted to go. 

Poor kid, Walter thought before he could stop himself. 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

The soccer ball came out of nowhere. If it hadn't been for her Section-honed reflexes, Nikita later thought ruefully, she would have had a nasty bump on her head. She bent and picked up the ball seconds before a small boy burst through a gap in the hedge like a miniature whirling dervish. 

He pulled up short at the sight of the strange woman holding his soccer ball, a dark red flush staining the pale coffee coloured skin of his neck and face. He looked down and shuffled his feet, overcome by shyness. 

Nikita took one look at him and was gone...totally smitten in the blink of an eye. Smiling, she bent down and caught his eye. 

"Hi there. Is this is your ball?" 

More shuffling of feet, but at last a hesitant reply. 

"Yes." 

Nikita tossed the soccer ball from one hand to the other. "That's a pretty mighty kicking boot you've got there." 

The boy lifted his head from an intent perusal of his sneakers and beamed at her shyly. 

"Do you like soccer?" His accent was a wonderfully exotic mixture of goodness-knows-what that had her instantly aware of her own broad drawl. 

Nikita wracked her brain, frantically trying to think of the last time she had even seen a game of anything being played. Soccer....World Cup...got it. 

Having remembered that much, she was rather sketchy on the details, so opted for the vague approach. "Oh yeah, it's a good game." 

The child's eyes lit up. "Would you like to play?" 

Nikita sighed. She had arrived in Lyons just over an hour ago and at this very moment was supposed to be looking for a job and somewhere to crash for the night. She had only come to the park to find a moment's peace and to catch her breath after the long train journey from Berlin. Nikita looked down at the boy's eager face and knew that she was a goner. 

"What's your name?" 

"Joseph " 

Nikita stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Joseph. My name is Nikita." 

He regarded her outstretched hand, and she saw his shyness melt away almost instantly. He shook her hand importantly before impatiently gesturing that she should drop the ball on the ground. 

Fifteen minutes later, Nikita was aching in places she'd forgotten she had. She'd hit the dirt more than once, while Joseph had literally run rings around her. After slipping over a third time, she called 'time out' from her seat on the ground, much to his disappointment. 

He sat beside her and regarding her seriously. "You're really bad at this." 

Nikita looked at him, slightly shocked, before starting to laugh, a deep throaty chuckle that even to her own ears sounded rusty with disuse. With a pang, she realized that she couldn't actually remember the last time that she had laughed out loud. The thought that this child was the first person that she had connected with in nearly two months was instantly sobering. Wanting to distract herself from the sudden feeling of emptiness that washed over her, Nikita gazed around the park. Catching sight of a small girl playing on a swing set nearby, she was instantly struck by the child's likeness to the boy sitting beside her. Seeing how he was studiously ignoring the other child, she took a wild guess. 

"Is that your little sister?" 

He looked at the little girl with a faint scowl, as though considering disowning her, but finally shrugged. 

"Yeah...that's Holly." 

"That's a pretty name...is Holly's birthday near Christmas?" 

His eyes widened, and Nikita's insides did a funny little lurch. Could this kid be any cuter? 

"Yeah...how did you know?" Nikita bit the inside of her lip and tried to look serious as he tossed his sister another sideways glance and sighed wearily. "We always have to have a birthday cake for her the day after Santa comes." She smiled at him, silently laughing at the concept of always as viewed by a seven year old. Holly couldn't have been more than two and a half. 

"Joseph...I certainly hope that you're not bothering that lady." 

Nikita and the boy both turned at the sound of the melodic female voice. Nikita quickly got to her feet, self-consciously brushing the dirt from the seat of her pants as she caught sight of the woman she assumed was Joseph's mother. 

She was beautiful. Her skin was a shade darker than her children's, her closely cropped hair the colour of an English toffee. Nikita shuffled her feet slightly, feeling more gauche than ever. 

This is just fabulous. I'm modeling homeless chic and now it looks like I'm going to have to strike up a conversation with someone who looks like Halle Berry's twin sister. 

Then the woman smiled at her and Nikita felt her awkwardness dissolving under her warmth gaze. She opened her mouth to speak but Joseph was too quick for her. 

"No, mama. We were just talking about Holly and when her birthday is." 

Nikita flushed with embarrassment. Great...now I sound like a potential child stalker. She cleared her throat noisily and held her now dirt-free hand out to the other woman. 

"Your children are beautiful and they're not bothering me at all. My name is Nikita." 

Joseph's mother's smile widened as she took Nikita's outstretched hand in hers. "I'm pleased to hear that my children are behaving themselves, and I am very pleased to meet you, Nikita. I'm Tahlia." Her lilting speech instantly made Nikita think of clear blue water and white sand. West Indian? Wherever she was from, Nikita could have sat and listened to her all day. 

The boy put his hand on his mother's arm, almost too excited to get the words out. "She played soccer with me, Mama." 

"Did she?" Tahlia smiled at her son indulgently before glancing up at Nikita again. Despite the other woman's friendliness, Nikita got the distinct impression that she was being quietly sized up, evaluated and pronounced judgment upon. 

She evidently passed, for Tahlia smiled at her warmly and rolled her eyes. "Then you're a braver woman than I, Nikita. If you play soccer with him even once, you are then doomed to an eternity of grass stains and a sore backside." 

They grinned at each other over the top of Joseph's head, and Nikita felt the ice packed around her heart thaw just a little. 

_The trick is to keep breathing_ , she thought to herself.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

"What the hell happened out there, Michael?" 

Operations glared at his Level Five Operative. He didn't know which was more infuriating - the fact that Michael's mission in Liberia had nearly become a bloodbath, or that Michael didn't seem to care one way or the other. 

Michael looked at him with a calmness borne of disinterest. 

"There was an anomaly. It was necessary to reconfigure the profile at the last moment." 

Operations gritted his teeth and wished, not for the first time, that he had acceded to Madeline's request and let her handle this particular debrief. God, he needed a cigarette. 

"The only anomaly out there tonight, Michael, was _you!_ " 

Michael remained silent, staring out through the large windows that looked down upon the main floor of Section. Frustrated by Michael's continued silence, Operations sighed angrily. He was getting very weary of the fallout from Nikita's death. How could someone possibly cause more trouble dead than alive? 

He waved his hand at Michael dismissively. "I want a full report on my desk in one hour." 

Michael nodded and walked slowly out of the office, barely acknowledging Madeline as she passed him in the doorway. 

Operations watched him leave before turning his attention to Madeline. "It's been four months. How much longer is this going to go on?" 

For a split-second, Madeline wished that Operations would take a less personal interest in his star operative's progress. "He spent three years as Nikita's mentor. The transition was bound to be difficult given the circumstances of her death." 

"How many more excuses are you going to make for him, Madeline?" His unspoken insinuation was more than clear. 

Madeline offered him a gentle smile, but no reply. She was well used to his ambivalent feelings towards Michael. Operations was genuinely fond of the younger man, almost to the point of pride. But that admiration always became entangled in too many other conflicting emotions. 

She sighed silently, ruing the fact that she had ever spoken to Operations about her part in Michael's training. She wasn't quite sure why she had felt the need to share the fact that she had been Michael's mentor in valentine duties. Operations had always been a possessive lover and even now, he was not able to hide his jealousy of Michael where she was concerned. 

For her own part, Madeline had made no effort to enlighten him to the fact that there had been no sexual contact between herself and Michael since his last valentine training session several years earlier. She enjoyed keeping her former lover on that knife-edge of uncertainty. It made him vulnerable to her influence. Madeline smiled to herself at the hypocrisy of her own thoughts. She admired Operations very much, and could admit more than a casual affection for him. But, if she was brutally honest with herself (and she usually was) she needed to feel the sway that she held over him. 

Operations interrupted her thoughts with a terse question. "Do you think that it was wise, profiling that particular contact in the Liberian mission?" 

"At the time, yes." She walked to the windows to watch Michael stalk through Section towards his office. "I'll admit that I was hoping to provoke a reaction from Michael." 

"A reaction?" Operations bit the words out in disbelief. "He nearly killed the man!" 

Madeline turned and met his eyes. "I know. But the fact that he did not may suggest that he is pulling back from the edge." 

Operations ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "I hope you're right. I want this fixed now, Madeline. We can't afford to cut him any more slack." 

"I quite agree. Ackerman will be arriving this afternoon from Two." 

Their eyes met, and Operations smiled grimly. "Will this work?" 

"I'm not sure. Michael's behaviour has been somewhat erratic of late. It's difficult to predict his reaction." 

Operations snorted. "Erratic is not quite the word I'd use. What do you hope to achieve by bringing Mr Ackerman over from Two?" 

Madeline smiled. "He's Level Four, with almost as much experience in the field as Michael. I propose that we use Ackerman to knock Michael back in line so to speak." 

Operations returned her smile with a pleased grin of his own as her reasoning became clear. "Promote Ackerman over Michael?" 

"Not yet. I would suggest that we let Mr Ackerman work his own way up the chain of command. He's ruthless...ambitious. He will do our work for us." 

Operations turned to gaze out over Section. "And then...?" 

"Then, when the time is right, we will let him step into Michael's place." 

He turned to look at the woman beside him. So beautiful, and yet so dangerous. Sighing inwardly, he nodded. 

"Good." 

Madeline started to walk from the room, then turned to impart the information she had originally come to deliver. 

"Incidentally, Mr Bauer will be discharged from hospital in two days. I would assume that he is also thankful that Michael managed to find enough self-restraint to leave him alive."

~*~

Michael walked quickly to his office, rage stiffening his spine as he contemplated the thought of making a report on this particular mission to Operations. 

It had been Madeline's doing, he was sure of it. Who else would have employed the twisted logic that had seen him meeting and being forced to work with Perry Bauer? Since their initial meeting, Section had used Bauer's connections to broker a number of deals, thankfully none of which Michael or Nikita had been required to take part in. What on earth had Madeline hoped to achieve? Michael slammed the door behind him, knowing full well that if Madeline had been after an insight into his mindset, he had certainly provided her with one. 

"You know Michael...I never thanked you for the free floor show." Bauer smirked at him. They were posted at the meeting point, waiting for Robert Mirko to appear. He was one of Bauer's former associates from his heroin dealing days whose attentions were now directed toward supplying weapons to both sides of any coup that happened to take his fancy. Michael was to be presented to him as a prospective buyer. If not for the necessity of taking Mirko alive, Michael would have happily shot Perry Bauer three hours ago. 

Michael shut his eyes for a few seconds, wishing that he was anywhere but where he was. It didn't work. There was no escaping Bauer's insidiously oily voice. 

"I never would have thought that you two weren't an item, the way you went at each other in my spare room. What a pity you had to go and set that bomb off so soon...another five minutes would have done the trick." He leered and touched Michael lightly on the upper arm, his hand lingering. "I bet you're kicking yourself now, hey?" 

Michael clenched his fists at his sides, trying to remind himself that the success of this mission depended on this man being alive to introduce him to Mirko. His flesh crawled where Bauer had touched him. 

Bauer was silent for only a few seconds before trying to catch Michael's eye again. "That Sage...sorry, Nikita. Now, that was a prime piece of ass, you know what I'm saying? I nearly came in my pants just seeing her in that rubber underwear." 

Michael felt the acid sting the back of his throat as the memories came rushing back. The paralyzing rush of pain that sliced through him was almost his undoing. He remembered how tightly Nikita had held onto him as Bauer touched her, her eyes locked onto his own in a silent plea for protection. This man had no right to discuss her. Then or now. 

"I'm betting you had the same problem. Girl like that, working together all the time." He sighed dramatically. "I'm just sorry that now I'll never get the chance to sample it for myself. Now...why was that again?" He eyed Michael slyly, and Michael knew in that instant that Bauer had been provided with more information than was necessary. 

"That's right. She's dead, isn't she?" 

Bauer's words became a gurgle in his throat as Michael's hand wrapped itself around his neck. Michael looked into his eyes and saw his fear as he felt the cold metal of the gun that was pressed against his heart. 

The blood drained from Bauer's face. "What are you doing?" 

Michael held Bauer's eyes as he spoke, noting the sweat pouring down Bauer's white face with grim satisfaction. The three other members of Michael's team were out of sight and hearing range. 

"Birkoff, we have an anomaly." 

Birkoff's voice flared to life in Michael's comm. unit. "What's the problem, Michael?" 

"Bauer appears to have exaggerated his connection with Mirko. He and Mirko have not been on speaking terms for several years. It may do more harm than good to have him involved in this scenario." At Bauer's indignant snort, Michael pressed the gun harder against the other man's chest and watched his pupils dilate with fear. 

"How do you know?" Birkoff sounded annoyed. 

Muting his comm. unit momentarily, Michael trailed his gun down Bauer's chest and stomach, finally placing the barrel deliberately against Bauer's groin. He could smell the man's fear and had to force himself not to recoil in disgust as Bauer started to babble almost incoherently. 

"Come on Michael! Don't be pissed...so she's dead. From what I've seen of Section, there's plenty more quality pussy to go around..." His voice quavered and trailed off as he looked into Michael's eyes. 

Michael calmly clicked the safety off the gun before he reactivated his comm. unit. "Because he's just told me, Birkoff. Downgrade his status to acceptable collateral." 

The rest of the sequence remained a blur. They had acquired Mirko alive, but not without sustaining major losses. Bauer's scream of pain had alerted Mirko's men to the fact that all was not as it seemed. 

Two team members wounded, one critically. As for Bauer, he'd live. Pity. Michael wasn't quite now sure why he moved the barrel of the gun two inches to the left before pulling the trigger. He could still hear Bauer's indignant roar as he had fallen to the ground, clutching his thigh, bright red arterial blood spurting through his splayed fingers. You crazy fuck, he'd screamed at Michael, ruining any chance of their team taking Mirko by surprise. 

Michael finished entering the stark details of the skewed mission and pushed the panel aside. Rubbing his throbbing temples, he stared at the laptop sitting at his left hand. He hadn't had the chance to send a message today. He reached out and touched the screen, feeling the brutal pain of certainty sear his gut. 

Four months. 

Twelve weeks. 

Eighty-four days. 

She was gone.

~*~

"I feel a sadness in you, Nikita." 

"Well..." Nikita took a sip of coffee and flashed Tahlia a smile. "We've all got issues." 

The two women were sitting in the diner owned by Tahlia and her husband Matty. Nikita had known this little family for less than a week, and she had been blown away by their generosity and kindness. Tahlia had helped Nikita find an apartment that wasn't too disgusting, given the fact that she didn't have a lot of budget to work with. That was another thing. Nikita had refused their efforts to lend her money so many times now that she had lost count. 

Although she smiled at the glib quip, Tahlia was shaking her head before Nikita could finish speaking. 

"Not like this. Your sadness goes bone deep, doesn't it?" 

Startled out of her wariness, Nikita looked at the other woman with her heart in her eyes. Tahlia nodded gently and reached out to squeeze her hand. 

"A misery that hides down so deep that you don't know if you'll ever be free of it...or if you can manage to survive the pain." 

The coffee cup started to shake in Nikita's fingers, and she hastily placed it on its saucer. 

"I don't really want to talk about it." 

"I think that is part of what is making you so sad. You seem so isolated...alone. Abandoned." 

Nikita swallowed hard. There was something about this woman that made her want to throw aside all her defenses and weep on her shoulder. The longing to talk to someone, especially another woman, was almost overwhelming. Nikita thought of Carla and the tears welled hotly in her eyes. 

Tahlia slid out of her seat and came to sit next to her, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Did someone hurt you?" 

Nikita shook her head as she wiped her eyes. "Not in the way you're thinking." 

"A man?" 

She could feel her heartbeat picking up speed. Tahlia was leading her into thoughts that she wasn't ready to face. "Yes." 

"A friend? Or a lover?" 

Despite the bleakness of the situation, Nikita couldn't suppress a dry smile. "You know, I was never quite sure of that." 

Tahlia smiled. "You miss him." It was a statement, not a question. 

"I don't know...I don't know what I'm feeling!" She could hear the frustration in her voice and looked away, embarrassed at how much she was revealing to a virtual stranger. 

Tahlia caught her eyes again. "I don't wish to sound like a greeting card, but I have always thought that while love will bring great joy, it can also bring great sorrow." She smiled at Nikita, her own eyes filling with a sad knowledge. "True love should always bring both." 

"Love?" Nikita shifted uncomfortably in her seat and shook her head. "No. Love isn't my problem." 

"I think it is, love." Tahlia took her arm away from Nikita's shoulders and touched her hand lightly. "This man...did the two of you live in the same kind of world?" 

Nikita frowned and looked away. Living wasn't exactly the right word for it. "Yes." 

"Did he care for you?" 

God, this was too much. Nikita tossed Tahlia a pleading look, but the other woman only waited patiently for an answer. She let out her breath on an unsteady sigh, faltering over the words. "I...I don't know. I think...perhaps, yes." 

"You left him?" 

That's one way of putting it. She took a deep breath and stared into her coffee cup. "I guess you could say that." 

Tahlia squeezed her hand gently. "Or did he send you away?" 

Nikita felt the wetness on her face. She hadn't even realized that she had started to cry. "Yes." 

"Do you hate him for it?" 

"No, I..." Nikita broke off, horrified by what she had found herself about to say. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, Tahlia seeming to sense that Nikita wanted to talk, but that she needed a little time to get her thoughts together. 

Nikita took a deep breath, and threw caution to the wind. 

"For the longest time, I hated him with a passion." She saw knowledge flare in Tahlia's eyes at the mention of passion, and nodded her head in defeat. "Passion sort of became the problem, at least for me." 

"How?" 

"The life we lived...so many times I could not understand why he did the things he did. He repelled me and drew me in at the same time. But after a while, I could hardly think straight when he was around." 

"Ah...lust is a wonderful thing to have experienced." 

Nikita blushed and shook her head again. "It was more than that." They exchanged a look of pure feminine understanding. "And that was the problem."

~*~

"You want to give me a job?" Nikita looked from Tahlia to Matty, not quite able to believe what she was hearing. 

Matty smiled at his wife lovingly before grinning at Nikita. "That's right." 

"But..." Nikita struggled to comprehend the enormity of their gesture. "You hardly know me!" 

Tahlia reached out and patted Nikita's hand. "That's not true, my dear. We know you well enough. Besides..." She blew an exaggerated kiss at her husband. "Having another person here will give Matty the chance to take a few hours off every now and then." 

Matty picked up Tahlia's hand and kissed it, his eyes never leaving hers. Nikita looked away, guilty about the violent pang of envy that shot through her.

To distract herself, she watched Joseph and Holly playing quietly in the far corner of the café until she heard Matty clear his throat lightly. 

Nikita looked at the two of them as they gazed at her. They looked so pleased with themselves that she couldn't help laughing. She wanted to lecture them about inviting virtual strangers into their home and their lives, but she just couldn't do it. 

"How do you know if I'm the right person for the job?" 

Matty rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her hesitation. "Our children think you walk on water. My wife likes you." He grinned and took a sip from his coffee cup. "And you can actually make coffee." He looked into her eyes, suddenly serious. "That's good enough for me." 

Nikita took a deep breath and grabbed onto hope with both hands. 

"Thank you."

~*~

Out of the corner of his eye, Birkoff caught a glimpse of a familiar figure entering Systems and his heartbeat picked up speed. Why did he always have to be the bearer of bad news? Not that what he was about to tell Michael would seem like bad news to anyone else, but Birkoff had that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach again. Michael was not going to like this. 

Birkoff held his breath as Michael walked toward him, silently praying for someone else to claim his attention before he reached Birkoff's workstation. 

No such luck. 

"Why was I called in?" 

Birkoff looked up at the man standing beside him and swallowed hard. Jesus, Michael had always looked unapproachable and intimidating, but since Nikita... Birkoff's thoughts stumbled over themselves. He didn't want to think about that night any more than he had to. 

"Madeline requested it." 

"Why?" 

Birkoff stared at his computer screen, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

"Uh...she wants you to work with Master To. A retraining programme for a couple of Level Two ops." 

"Retraining?" Michael sounded bored, almost disinterested. 

"Yeah...a couple of abeyance ops that have been pulled back onto active status."

"Who?" 

Birkoff swallowed again, drumming his fingers nervously on the desk. Why me? Taking a deep breath, he held the panel out to Michael. He watched as Michael took it, his gaze quickly scanning the intel on the screen. With an intuition borne of dread, Birkoff knew the exact instant that Michael's eyes found the name.

~*~

Michael felt his breath catch hard in his throat. 

_Nathan Byrnes._ He stared at the data, recollection shooting through him like an electric shock. 

_The other six will be sacrificed._

Through the red fog of pain misting his thoughts, he heard Birkoff clear his throat. "Madeline reviewed his status a couple of months ago...I guess she thought we could have some use for him after all." 

Frozen, Michael stood staring at the name of the operative whose second chance at life had come at Nikita's expense. The man who should have died during the incineration of the Freedom League base six months ago. The one Michael had waited for in vain at van access, only to find that a very different operative had taken his place. 

Nikita. 

A violent longing for her flooded his mind and body, sickness clawing coldly at his gut. Michael became achingly aware of the sound of his own breathing, loud and unsteady in his chest. 

"They're waiting for you." 

Michael raised his eyes from the panel to look at Birkoff, the sadness in the younger man's face barely registering on a consciousness pounded by grief. Mute with anger, Michael nodded abruptly and walked away, the panel clutched painfully in his right hand. 

As he approached the dojo, he could see Master To instructing Byrnes and Connolly. The three men looked up as he approached, but his gaze went straight to Byrnes. The former abeyance operative returned his hard stare, flustered by Michael's obvious attention. Michael stared at the man who was still breathing because of Nikita's 'cancellation' and tried to remind himself that Byrnes would have no idea of the reason why he was still alive. 

"Thank you for coming, Michael." The master's calm tones brought him back to himself with a start. He bowed stiffly to the instructor before moving to the side of the room in order to observe the training. He saw Byrnes throw him a puzzled glance before stepping up to meet Master To on the mat. 

Michael looked away. He felt numb, as though his blood had slowed to a thick trickle in his veins. He struggled against the flood of memories that were slipping through the cracks of his control, but couldn't stop them coming. The sounds in the room faded away, and all he could hear and see was Nikita, the agony of her loss making him feel as though his heart was being ripped out through his chest. Michael stared across the common area of Section, his vision blurring as he gave himself up to the memories that were all he had left of the woman he had set free.

~*~

Nikita was deeply immersed in her least favourite task when she heard Matty call out to her in a laughing voice. 

"Hey Nik...your favourite customers are here." Nikita put down the stock re-ordering form and poked her head out from the back room. 

Wonderful...Huey, Dewey and Lewey. 

"Want me to take 'em?" She looked at Matty and started to laugh at his manic eye-rolling. 

"No, it's okay. You're busy. I can handle these idiots." 

She had never been a morning person, and these early shifts were killing her. Still the money was good, she couldn't have asked for a better boss than Matty, and she could have all the free coffee she could drink. If I didn't have to deal with losers like these three, I'd be pretty happy. She rubbed her tired eyes and silently grumbled to herself as she watched the three shamble through the front door. 

They were three of the rudest individuals she'd ever met, and considering the lowlifes that she'd encountered, Nikita thought that was quite saying something.

Taking a deep breath, she waltzed over to their table, ignoring the lecherous stares and the surly grunts that passed for conversation as far as they were concerned. For once, they managed to give her their breakfast orders without changing their minds a dozen times. Nikita had the sneaking suspicion that they contrived this little performance just to annoy her. 

"Nik...order's up." She flashed Matty a grin and grabbed the last two plates. Hopefully, the idiots would eat quickly and leave her in peace. 

The trio in question was strangely silent when she reached their table, but she didn't think anything of it. Looking back later, she realized with annoyance that their Neanderthal ringleader had most likely planned to 'stir her up something good', to use his own way of putting things. 

Silently, they watched her put the plates down and turn away. She had only taken a few steps toward the kitchen before her peaceful morning came to an end.

"Hey! Sweetheart! Come here." It was Neanderthal Guy. Great. 

Biting back a sharp retort, Nikita turned around and walked slowly back to the table. 

"Is there a problem?" 

"Yeah, I've got a problem." 

Nikita looked down at his sweaty face with its mean little eyes. Mate, you've got so many problems that I wouldn't know where to start. Only just managing to resist the urge to curl her hand around his thick neck and choke the life out of him, she put her hands on her hips and cracked her chewing gum provocatively. 

"You wanna talk about it?" 

Smirking, he glanced at his buddies with a "watch this" look before leering up at her. "Yeah...you see, there's no butter on my toast." 

Their eyes met as Nikita silently fumed. They both knew that he didn't ask for butter. They also both knew that she wasn't going to contradict him. The customer is always right, my ass! Gritting her teeth, Nikita gave him a brittle smile and reached for his plate. 

"I'm sorry. I'll get you another order." 

Nikita reached across to pick up his plate, hating the fact that she had to get close to him. He reeked of cigarette smoke and stale sweat, and her empty stomach quivered in protest. Distracted, she didn't notice his hand reaching out until it was too late. 

She winced as he grasped her tightly by the arm, his thick fingers digging into her flesh, his voice little more than a sneer. 

"I don't like your attitude." 

Nikita turned her head calmly to meet his eyes. "Really." 

"Yeah, really." 

Nikita's temper flared as the hand on her arm tightened. Why does this keep happening to me? Do I have an 'idiots welcome here' sign tattooed on my forehead? She shook her head. "Don't do this, please." 

The man's eyes narrowed, evidently annoyed by her unruffled manner. He yanked her closer, intent on winning whatever battle he thought he was fighting. Enough. Nikita leant forward and stared into his face. 

"You're...hurting...me." 

He only smirked at her. "Well, you see, I'm just trying to teach you some manners." 

Nikita was shocked by the urge to hurt that was rapidly building inside her. Her adrenalin was pumping, and she had forgotten what that felt like. She looked at the man holding her arm and his companions and briefly wondered what Matty would think if she took out all three of them. 

She would never find out. 

Matty was suddenly at her side, scowling as he wrenched the guy's hand off her arm. Her flesh bruised and tingling, Nikita quickly grabbed the plate of unbuttered toast and spun around, furious as she walked into the kitchen. 

She watched as the man waved his hands about, assuring Matty that there was no problem. Matty put his hands on his hips and glared at him for a few seconds before turning to Nikita. 

"You want me to toss this guy out?" 

Nikita looked at her boss. She was sorely tempted, but when all was said and done, this was Matty and Tahlia's livelihood. Losing a customer meant losing money. Even if the customer was a complete dickhead, she was prepared to put up with it for their sake. 

"Leave him be. He'll be fine once he gets his butter." 

Matty nodded reluctantly and glared again at her antagonist. Nikita smiled as she buttered the rapidly cooling toast. It was kind of nice to have a knight in shining armor around, even if he did belong to someone else. 

Hours later, long after the three stooges had left, she grabbed a strong coffee and sat for a moment before she left for the day. 

So this was real life, she mused. Nikita traced invisible circles on the table top with her fingers and thought. She had money. She had friends. She didn't have to kill anyone. She smiled to herself at that. I came pretty close this morning. 

She had a job...okay, it wasn't the greatest job in the world, but it was okay. She had somewhere to live...and there were no hidden cameras. 

So why did she still feel as though she was missing a limb? It wasn't really a question, but the answer flowed into her mind anyway, rushing through her body like a gust of heated oxygen. 

Michael. 

The dreams had eased, but they still came. Sometimes, when she was doing something utterly ordinary, like this moment...sitting drinking coffee in the diner she worked in, it felt as though she had dreamed the last three years...as though it had just been one long terrifying nightmare that she had finally woken from. And then she would dream again, and it would all come flooding back with a painful rush. 

How long would it take before she was free of him? She had been so sure that it would be Section that would haunt her dreams, Section that would invade her every thought. 

It wasn't. Nikita closed her eyes in quiet despair as the invisible walls of her past closed in, her heart singing out a silent plea. 

When would freedom actually feel like freedom?

~*~

He blinked, his eyes startled by the bright lights after wearing the hood for nearly two hours. 

His host was walking towards him, smiling unsettling politeness. "How nice to see you again, my boy." 

"Cut the crap, I don't have time for niceties." 

The older man shook his head. "Come now...I know that you find what we do here distasteful. It doesn't mean that we can't be civilised about it, does it?" 

"Let's just do this, okay?" 

Zegna looked at his visitor and sighed. Such impatience...such misplaced ambition. 

"The money will be wired to your account when your information has proven profitable." 

The younger man scowled. "That's not what we agreed." 

"My dear boy, how can I be sure that you're not playing me for a fool? Playing both sides, as you Americans say?" 

"You have my word." 

Zegna smiled politely at his reluctant business partner. "Forgive me if that doesn't quite reassure me." 

He hummed to himself as he stared at the screen, quickly scanning the data his visitor had delivered before ejecting the disk. "Very good. Very good." 

"Happy now?" 

"Oh yes. This is quite comprehensive." He looked at the younger man. "Do not worry yourself...the money will be in your account before you can say...what is the phrase...Jack Robinson." 

"It had better be." 

Zegna snapped his fingers and two of his men stepped forward. "He may leave now. Please ensure that he finds his way back safely." He laughed. "Wouldn't want to have to start all over again with someone else, would we?" 

The other man looked at him, puzzled by his jovial manner. At his look, Zegna smiled. 

"Things are going very well, my friend. Just before I came here to meet you, I received a sterling piece of good news." 

He slipped the disk into his pocket and rocked back on his heels. "We have located someone...someone we never thought we would find. Someone who will help us...help you, in fact. And we have found her right under our noses." 

The other man frowned, puzzled. "Who?" 

Zegna patted him companionably on the shoulder. "I wouldn't worry. I'm sure that you'll find out soon enough." 

They exchanged a long look before the guards tugged on the visitor's arms and started to lead him away. The older man called out to him in a self-satisfied voice. 

"I'm sure that we'll be speaking again very soon, Mr Ackerman."

~*~


End file.
